"Damn it!" General Thaddeus Ross clenched the walkie-talkie, his face dark with fury.
"We were just about to finish the preparations," Ross muttered in frustration. But deep down, he knew this had always been the risk. To get this close to the final stage of such a massive operation and still be discovered—he had never had much luck with easy captures. The beast's instincts and wariness had always been sharp, impossible to blunt—until now. Today, he had people close enough to wear that sharpness down. Even a beast, when faced with someone it trusts, can relax and grow careless.
Now that things had come this far, there was no turning back.
"Pursue him! Don't let him get away!" Ross barked into the radio.
"Scouts, report the target's coordinates!"
"He's moving at two-seventy!"
"Blonsky?"
"On my way, General."
"Force him out. Drive him from the building if you have to. I don't want to blow it up unless there's no other choice."
"Understood."
...
A line of soldiers and armored vehicles charged toward the distant campus buildings. At the rear of the formation, Emil Blonsky broke into a run—and what a run it was. His boots struck the ground like thunder, and in moments, he was overtaking the men ahead of him like a gust of wind cutting through the formation.
A wild grin spread across Blonsky's face. For years, his body had been deteriorating; age had eaten away at his strength. No matter how hard he trained, how disciplined he stayed, he couldn't stop the slow decay. But now—now he felt the surge of raw power pumping through his veins, endless and intoxicating. His body is no longer tired. His muscles thrummed with energy that just wouldn't quit.
For as long as he could remember, he'd lived for the front lines—for dangerous missions, for the thrill of combat. Promotions meant nothing to him. What he craved was the rush of facing an enemy who could kill him. Without that, life lost its meaning. He had always imagined dying in battle when his strength finally failed him. But now… now that might never happen.
...
"Target sighted."
"…"
"He's been forced into the glass corridor on the top floor."
"…"
Updates crackled through General Ross's earpiece. When the report came that the target had entered the semi-circular glass corridor, a triumphant grin tugged at his mouth.
"He's cornered. Seal off the exits. Throw in tear gas and smoke bombs—force him out," Ross ordered.
"Let me go!" a woman's scream rang out behind him.
Not far away, a young woman with flaxen hair struggled violently as two soldiers held her back.
"Let her go," Ross said sharply, frowning as he waved the soldiers off.
Inside the corridor, Bruce Banner caught sight of Betty Ross being dragged away by the soldiers. In that instant, rage burst through his chest like wildfire. He roared—a deep, thunderous bellow that rattled the glass.
Harry looked up toward the sound. In the distance, the glass corridor exploded outward with a deafening crash. A massive green figure leapt into the open air like a cannonball, crashing into the ground below. The earth shook, the turf tore apart, and a crater yawned beneath the impact.
For a moment, everyone stared in stunned silence. Then, out of the pit, a four-meter-tall green giant emerged—his feet crushing the soil as he turned his furious gaze toward Ross's troops. Only when he began charging did the soldiers snap out of their shock.
"Where's Team A? The target's exposed! Let him taste some artillery!" General Ross shouted into the radio. "Off-road units, keep up! Lure him away—he's irrational now. Keep him engaged and under fire!"
"His anger's focused on whoever attacks him! Keep him moving—make him wear himself out!"
"General! No! Dad, please don't!" Betty Ross ran toward him, grabbing his arm in panic. "Please! Let him go!"
"Betty, don't you understand?" Ross's voice was cold but not without sorrow. He pointed toward the raging monster under the hail of bullets. "That's Bruce Banner. Look at him! He's not human anymore—only pure, uncontrollable rage."
"Please…" Betty's voice broke, her expression twisting into despair.
"I can't," Ross said flatly, shaking her hand off. "Take her out of here. Don't let her interfere."
Harry clicked his tongue softly as he watched father and daughter. "Tsk… messy family drama," he muttered, unsure what to make of it.
On the battlefield, the situation escalated.
Several off-road vehicles failed to maintain distance, and the green behemoth seized one with both hands, lifting it like a toy. With a roar, he slammed it into the ground again and again, crumpling the reinforced armor like tinfoil.
In less than a minute, the armored vehicle was nothing but a pile of mangled scrap.
Then, with terrifying strength, the Hulk tore pieces of the wreckage free and hurled them like massive projectiles.
"Boom!"
An approaching off-road vehicle was struck head-on. The thick armor dented inward, and the whole vehicle was thrown more than ten meters before crashing down. Several others met the same fate moments later.
"So violent," Harry said in awe, though his eyes gleamed with fascination. From his position nearly three hundred meters away, the system hadn't yet activated—but he was dying to see what kind of score it would assign the Hulk.
General Ross wasn't admiring anything. He was frantically issuing orders through the radio, his face set and grim. If someone didn't contain the Hulk soon, none of his men would make it out alive.
"It's your turn, Blonsky," Ross said, his voice tight with anticipation. He could barely restrain his eagerness to see the two monsters clash.
Harry, watching from above, couldn't share the optimism. After seeing the Hulk firsthand, that suffocating aura of raw, terrifying power had burned itself into his mind. Whatever serum Ross had pumped into Blonsky, it couldn't compare. It might keep him alive—but to defeat the Hulk? Impossible.
For ordinary soldiers, Blonsky was unstoppable. But against the green titan rampaging under a storm of gunfire… the difference was beyond measure. Maybe the serum would keep him breathing—but that was all.
Sure enough, despite all his training and speed, Blonsky couldn't so much as wound the Hulk. He dodged, rolled, and struck with precision, but every hit he landed meant nothing. Every counterattack from the Hulk sent shockwaves through the air.
"Good work!" Ross called over the comms. He hadn't expected Blonsky to win—only to buy time.
"Lure him toward Stark's sonic cannons," Ross ordered, a rare smile breaking through his hardened expression.
Two heavy trucks sped into position, each carrying a strange diamond-shaped weapon mounted on the roof.
The Hulk thundered forward, his steps shaking the ground. Grass and dirt exploded beneath his feet as he crossed the field—until Ross gave the signal.
"Fire!" he barked.
Twin sonic cannons roared to life, unleashing twin columns of visible sound waves that converged at a single point. The air shimmered violently. The Hulk staggered mid-charge, muscles tensing as invisible pressure wrapped around him. His rampage slowed, movement straining against the force.
General Ross finally exhaled in relief.
---
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